


Quite Interesting

by TiffanyF



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Incest, M/M, fantasy of a real person, non-graphic fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiffanyF/pseuds/TiffanyF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For most of his life, Mycroft has had a serious crush on a certain actor. He doesn't tell his lover about it and Lestrade finds out about it in a rather hard way. Lestrade goes to Sherlock to talk and Sherlock, as always, does things in his own way. Don't own, don't claim, no money made here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> perkyandproud challenged me to write this fic. We'd both watched about ten episodes of QI and were in a very silly mood. I don't know if I can blame her for this or not.

One night when he was in Mycroft's home waiting for the man to finish up a rushed phone call with someone that Lestrade wasn't supposed to know about, but rather suspected it to be the King of France or something odd like that, he flipped through the DVR files to see if there was anything that would be interesting to watch. It was all QI, and it looked like Mycroft was a religious watcher when he had the time. Lestrade had watched the show once or twice, but most of it was over his head and he preferred to understand the shows that he was watching. Mycroft had returned before Lestrade could find anything on the telly and suggested dinner in a tone that meant they were going whether Lestrade really wanted to or not.

It also wasn't too unusual for Lestrade to be in bed before Mycroft on those nights that they spent together. Mycroft always worked late, seeming to need as little sleep as Sherlock most nights, and would wake Lestrade whenever he was finally able to come to bed. Lestrade had no clue what all it was Mycroft did once he'd turned in for the night, and he was curious. He knew he could fake being asleep, he'd done it to Sherlock a couple of times when the consulting detective turned up in his bedroom for a case or wanting to talk about something unusual - always around two in the morning for some reason - so Lestrade started plotting. It would take some sort of a plan to be able to fool Mycroft, and Lestrade was willing to work at it until he was sure that he would be able to sneak out and find out what his boyfriend was doing on those late nights. Lestrade had never been able to tempt him into bed early, no matter what he tried. It was frustrating. But, then again, if he had wanted a normal relationship, he wouldn't have fallen in love with a Holmes brother. Most of him suspected that it was just work, but there had been a few times when Mycroft had woken him up in such a state of high arousal that Lestrade had felt like he was at the center of a storm and didn't know what had happened to put his boyfriend into such a state.

He also didn't know that Mycroft looked in on him at least three times after he had gone to bed. Lestrade's job was stressful enough without Sherlock around, off the chart whenever the consulting detective did show up, that he normally was asleep within a couple of minutes of hitting the bed. That was the other part of his plan, he did have to work up to being able to stay awake when he was lying down. He worked at it hard, and after two months, was finally ready to attempt to sneak up on Mycroft when his boyfriend wasn't expecting it. He went to bed at around his normal time, kissing Mycroft as thoroughly as possible, as always, hoping to entice the man into bed with him. As always, it didn't work and Lestrade went to bed grumbling about men with power who refused to use said power to spend time with their boyfriends. More or less normal for the evening, really. Lestrade went through everything as normally as possible and then went to bed. He knew he had at least two hours to wait until he could sneak back out of bed, maybe longer if Mycroft managed to deduce that he was still awake. 

The light never clicked on, but it was instantly obvious to the awake Lestrade when Mycroft was in the doorway. It was like the air was heavier, as if there was a storm coming. He figured that was just Mycroft's powerful personality interacting with the surrounding air. The sheer magnetism the man threw off was amazing, and Lestrade could always feel it around him. He waited through three of the checks and then an extra hour more, just to be sure that Mycroft wasn't going to check in a forth time before he crawled carefully out of bed and started to move silently towards the living room. It was dark, as was Mycroft's office, and Lestrade was just starting to think that his boyfriend might have gone back out for some reason, when he caught sight of light coming from the den. 

Mycroft had the telly on. Lestrade could tell that from the flickering of the light from the half-open door, and when he crept closer, he could hear laughter and Stephen Fry talking. Mycroft had to be watching one of the recorded episodes of QI. It didn't make any sense. Why would Mycroft wait until Lestrade was asleep to watch a television show? Lestrade didn't mind QI, he would have been happy to have an excuse to spend more time with Mycroft than he did, even if the only one on the show he ever really understood was Alan. He actually kind of liked Alan, in his bumbling way to get the right answers and always managing to make people laugh. Lestrade was about to step into the room and join his boyfriend when Mycroft moaned.

Lestrade couldn't see Mycroft from the door, but there was a mirror hanging on the wall that Mycroft used to keep people from sneaking up on him. Not that he had ever said anything of the sort, but Lestrade had seen him do it enough to know why the mirror was there in such a ridiculous place. He would have to be careful that Mycroft couldn't see him, but he thought that if he went behind the door and looked in the crack he would have a chance of seeing exactly what had Mycroft moaning. He wasn't prepared for the sight of the other man lying naked on the sofa, hair mussed and skin flushed. Mycroft had a hand around his erection and was stroking it slowly while watching QI. Watching Stephen Fry. Lestrade swallowed back a flush of anger when he realized that Mycroft was also fingering himself, had two fingers in deeply where Lestrade was never allowed to touch, even on the surface. Mycroft moaned again, this time a name, and it wasn't Greg's. Lestrade swallowed hard and went back to bed. There were two options, and he didn't know what to make of either of them.  
**********

It was still dark when Lestrade slipped out of bed, noting that Mycroft had joined him at some point during what had been left of the night, and dressed as silently as he could. He needed help and advice, and knew he could get both, but it would be hard. He would have to put up with snark and biting comments, and insults to his intelligence, but he could get help. Sherlock was probably the only one who could help him, because he was the only one who really knew Mycroft. Lestrade went back to his own flat first to shower and change clothes, not wanting to be overly obvious about where he had spent the night, even though he knew that Sherlock knew about his relationship with Mycroft. He ended up falling asleep in his own bed for a couple of hours, accidently, and woke up with a kink in his back from sleeping in a funny position. He also had one leg in his trousers and one sock on. Lestrade sighed and put himself to rights, feeling stupid even if there was no one around to see him. He hadn't realized how tired he was. Maybe changing his sleep pattern wasn't that great of an idea, and finding out what his boyfriend was doing just made his heart hurt. 

He almost literally ran into John at the door of the flat. "Oh, Lestrade, thank god," John said. "Please tell me someone's been killed. That you have a case for Sherlock."

"John?"

"He's driving me mad. I'm heading to the surgery to escape. Just tell me you have something for him to work on."

"Sorry. I do have a question for him, but it's not a case," Lestrade said.

"Let him know I may not be back tonight then, please," John sighed. "I need a night of normality and lack of explosions."

“That bad?”

“You have no idea. I’d warn you not to go up there, but you might be the only one who can get him to move. I’ll see you later.”

Lestrade hadn’t thought about the chance of finding Sherlock in one of his sulking moods. The man could fall into a black period that no one, nothing but a case really, could pull him out of. He sighed and went up the stairs and into the sitting room. Sherlock was on the sofa, curled up facing the back. “Sherlock?”

“What do you want, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked.

“I need your help.”

“Excellent. You have a case. I’ll dress.”

“No, Sherlock, I need your help. Not for a case, but personally,” Lestrade said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

Sherlock looked him over carefully and sighed. “Pull John’s chair into the middle of the room,” he finally said. “Where did I leave the remote for the telly?”

“Telly? Sherlock, I need to talk to you.”

“Trust me, Lestrade, and bring the chair out.” Sherlock turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, finally settling on BBC 5 and some sort of antique show. He then pulled his chair out to sit next to John’s and settled into it. “My brother has the flat bugged, Lestrade,” he said softly, just barely able to be heard over the show on the TV. “This is the only way to talk about anything without him knowing about it.”

“He bugged your flat?”

“He says he likes to keep an eye on me, something about worrying about me,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “That’s not important. You finally found out about his quirk, didn’t you?”

“His. What? Sherlock, stop jumping around so much. I’m tired.”

“Do keep your voice down, Lestrade, unless you want my brother to know that you spotted him watching porn last night,” Sherlock said.

“He wasn’t watching porn, he was watching QI.”

Sherlock smiled. “That’s his idea of porn,” he said. “He’s never been one to watch more conventional forms of media for anything, and there’s something about Stephen Fry that turns my brother into a simpleton.”

“How did he hide something like this from me?” Lestrade asked.

“You must always go to bed first,” Sherlock replied. “It would be simple enough to wait for you to fall asleep, indulge himself and then join you. I would imagine he’s woken you up a few times and been rather, well, rough is a dry enough word. There are some things I prefer not to think about Mycroft doing.”

“You’re right,” Lestrade sighed. “I wondered what had happened to make him so excited and frantic, but didn’t think too much of it at the time, because he had been away each time and I thought he just missed me.”

“Possible, very possible, but it’s more likely he missed his porn more,” Sherlock said. “He’s adored Stephen Fry for as long as I can remember, and has always had more than a crush on him. I had hoped that his relationship with you would be enough to bring it to an end, but I see that it hasn’t.”

“Sherlock, he wasn’t ever, he didn’t ever sleep with Stephen Fry, did he?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but you do have to remember that I don’t keep track of every one of my brother’s more intimate affairs.”

“So it is possible that Mycroft knows Stephen Fry?”

“Mycroft knows everyone,” Sherlock said. “I do think that I would have realized his meeting the one man that he has dreamed of since we were children. He wouldn’t have been able to conceal that level of emotion even from me.”

“You’re really not making me feel any better, Sherlock.”

“It’s not my job to make you feel better,” Sherlock said. “You came to me for answers, not comfort. Why not just talk to Mycroft about all of this, Lestrade?”

“Because of what he was doing when I found him,” Lestrade said quietly.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a long moment. “I very likely will have to delete this when we’re done with this conversation, and will likely regret this in the long run, but what was he doing when you found him?”

Lestrade couldn’t resist getting Sherlock back for all the trouble the consulting detective had caused him over the years. “He had two fingers up his ass while he was jerking off,” he said. “From how much of a sheen his skin had, I would think that he’d been doing it for a while and was fighting back a climax.”

To his credit, Sherlock’s facial expression didn’t change, but Lestrade saw every single muscle in the younger man’s body tense with the strain of attempting to hold back. He grinned. “You can say something, you know.”

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking at the moment, Lestrade,” Sherlock said tightly.

“Why?”

“Because I have seen that same thing more times than I care to remember, and I have trouble deleting it,” Sherlock said. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “No matter how hard I try, there’s always something left over. Let us say that Mycroft is not as careful at our mother’s home, and he doesn’t always lock his door.”

“So he really has been doing this for years?”

“Since he was old enough to be interested in someone,” Sherlock said. “I’ve never understood the physical attraction personally, but I do have to agree with him that the man’s mind is highly attractive. There is something unusual about him.”

“Not really helping here, Sherlock.”

“What is it you wished me to do, Lestrade? I’ve answered your questions and haven’t said anything to offend you. Would you feel better if I called you an idiot and sent you away to deal with this yourself?”

“I don’t know how to deal with it. That’s what I need help with. How do I talk to him about this? It’s obvious he doesn’t want me to know what he’s doing because he’s been hiding it from me,” Lestrade said. “You don’t think that this means he wants to break up with me, do you? Does he really want some guy on the telly more than his own boyfriend?”

“He just started up the stairs, Lestrade,” Sherlock said. “I suggest you think about what you want to be talking about.”

“Oh, hell.” Lestrade took a deep breath. “Sherlock, I really need your help on this case, I’m stuck and can’t make heads of tails of it. Will you please come and take a look at it? You already drove John off for the day, so I know you’re not working on anything right now.”

The door opened almost silently. Sherlock looked over. “I would be happy to look into the case, Lestrade, but I think you’ll be busy for the rest of the day. Shall I text you my results?”

“You both can stop with the act,” Mycroft said from the door. “Sherlock, why do you have the telly on if you’re working?”

“I always watch this program,” Sherlock replied.

“Do you?”

“Of course. It’s fascinating.” He looked back up at the TV and blinked a couple of times. “Lestrade, what are they doing?”

“Appraising a house, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, trying not to sigh. He should have picked out the show they were using as cover, at least then he would have been able to claim that he wanted Sherlock to see it. “Mycroft.”

“Gregory. I was surprised to find you gone when I awoke this morning,” Mycroft said. “I had hopes that you might take lunch with me before you go in to check your desk and clear up paperwork.”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good,” Lestrade said. “Sherlock, you’ll get me those results as soon as possible?”

“Of course, Lestrade. Now run along like a good puppy.”

“Sherlock!”

“If you had a tail, it would be wagging,” Sherlock continued. He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Do mind your lunch, Mycroft. You wouldn’t want to put on any more weight.”

“So witty, dear brother. Are you ready, Gregory?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sherlock.”

“Lestrade. Mycroft, don’t blow anyone up without checking for the details first.”

Mycroft shut the door behind them and sighed. “How charming. It’s no wonder John has escaped for the day. Where would you like to go today, Gregory?”

“Anywhere is fine,” Lestrade said. 

“You’re rather sulky this morning, Gregory, is there something wrong?”

Cursing his stupid brain which caused the attraction to one of the Holmes brothers, especially since it was the smarter of the pair. He wasn’t sure exactly how much he wanted to talk about something so obviously personal in public. “It’s nothing, Mycroft. Just something I needed to ask Sherlock about.”

Mycroft was silent until the door of the car was shut behind them. “You weren’t there for a case because your phone didn’t ring this morning,” he finally said. “You spent yesterday working mainly on paperwork, so it is highly improbable that you were there to talk to Sherlock about an official case. I would hope that you would come to me about any personal matters you might be troubled with.”

“Of course I would, Mycroft, don’t be silly,” Lestrade said.

“You were obviously there to talk about something you didn’t wish for me to learn about,” Mycroft continued. “I know that Sherlock knows that I have the flat bugged. Unfortunately he has figured out the one place in the sitting room that I am unable to hear a conversation. That is exactly where you were sitting this morning when I arrived at Baker Street. What could you possibly be talking about with my brother that you don’t want me to know about?”

“There are several things I can think of, you know,” Lestrade said.

“Which are?”

“Maybe I want to get you a surprise present?” Lestrade said. “Or maybe I want to set up a surprise party for you and asked Sherlock to help me plan it out.”

“No, Gregory, you wouldn’t do that because you know what I would do to you in revenge for subjecting me to such an event,” Mycroft said with a small smile. “And as you know exactly how I feel about parties and public events when I do not have to work, and I also know that you would not force me to sit through such a monstrosity as my brother would no doubt create, even with your influence. So why don’t you tell me exactly why you were there, and why you didn’t want to wake me up this morning?”

“I didn’t wake you up because I knew you had been up late and needed to sleep,” Lestrade said. “Why is it so hard to think that maybe I want to find a present for you and surprise you, Mycroft? You’re always doing nice things for me, I want to do something nice for you and surprise you.”

“You do realize you do not have to do anything,” Mycroft said. “Come, let’s eat and then maybe we can spend some time together before you go into the Yard.”

“That might be fun,” Lestrade said. He tried to get the mental image of Mycroft shoving his fingers deeply into his body while looking at another man. It wasn’t easy and it was definitely something that would kill any possible erection Lestrade might have been capable of. He was in a lot of trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock wasn’t sure why he felt the need to help Lestrade out, other than the idea that it might help him delete the mental images he had in his head of his naked brother perving over Stephen Fry. There were many things in this world that Sherlock would like to know about his brother, but his sex life and fantasies were not amongst them. He didn’t think it would be too hard to find out if his brother had, in fact, moved beyond his fantasies and into the physical with Stephen Fry. That was even given that Mycroft guarded his life, but he thought he had a slightly better idea. It would take some planning, but it did sound like Lestrade was planning to spend the afternoon away from Mycroft, so it might be possible for him to put his plan into action. He grinned and swept through the kitchen and into his bedroom. He had items to gather up, items that John didn’t know he owned, and then he would go to his brother’s house. Maybe the afternoon wouldn’t be nearly as boring as he had been afraid of.  
**********  
Lestrade wasn't too surprised to find the flat dark when he got home. Mycroft had said he would be home for the rest of the day, but his lover's job was unpredictable and it was always possible that Mycroft would be called out without any notice or time to call Lestrade to let him know that their plans had changed. He hung up his jacket and went towards the bathroom, wanting a shower and a nap.

The paper taped to the bedroom door puzzled him, as did the door being closed. He grabbed the paper and sighed when he realized that it was from Sherlock. No one else had hand-writing like that man. He flipped on the hall light to see what the consulting detective wanted with him this time around.

**Lestrade,

While I am attempting to figure out if my brother has ever, in fact, fulfilled his fantasies of Stephen Fry, I thought it might be nice for you to have his undivided attention for the night. I can say with great certainty that no one, save my brother, has ever touched his ass. If you wish to erase all his thoughts about his obsession, I would suggest you go against his wishes and top him for the night. There is a high probability that he will find the experience good enough that he will spend less time in front of the telly and more time in with you.

In order to aid you in this regard, I have, well, arranged for him to be at your disposal for the night. He's as clean as I could get him without causing myself permanent trauma, and clean enough for you to enjoy, I think. You can always clean him more, if you wish. 

Also, do not believe anything he says before he orgasms. The man needs to realize that his physical lover is more important than a figure on the telly, no matter how much he admires him.  
SH**

Feeling extremely nervous about what he would find on the other side of the bedroom door, Lestrade tucked the note into his trouser pocket and went in. "Bloody hell."

"Gregory."

Mycroft was stretched out on their bed, wrists cuffed to the headboard in such a way that they would restrain but not harm blood flow. He was naked with several toys lying next to him on the bed. 

"This is a nice surprise to come home to," Lestrade said. He smiled and started to undo his shirt. "How long have you been waiting for me, Mycroft?"

"My brother arrived not long after I arrived home," Mycroft said coldly. "I woke up like this two hours ago. Release me."

"I don't think I will." Lestrade moved closer to the bed and saw that there were ankle cuffs as well, waiting for him to use them. "I had no clue Sherlock would do something like this, but I'm not going to let it go to waste." He picked up one of the strips of leather and smiled. "This will look good against your skin, Mycroft."

"Gregory, you will release me or I will have something unspeakable done to you," Mycroft said.

"Nope." Lestrade caught one of the long legs and quickly had it secured to the foot of the bed. "I saw you last night, Mycroft. I saw exactly what you were doing, heard what you were moaning in the den, and it hurt."

"Gregory."

"How do you think it felt to hear my lover moaning another man's name, Mycroft?" Lestrade asked. He ran his hands along the still free leg. "You want to feel Stephen Fry inside you. That's why you never want to let me touch your ass, not even just the skin, no matter how much I want to." He pressed a soft kiss to Mycroft's right knee and shifted onto the bed. "I went to Sherlock to ask him if you had ever done anything with Stephen Fry, to find out if you were cheating on me. He's going to find out for me, but he left you like this for me so I can prove something to you."  
"And what is all this going to prove?" Mycroft asked. His body was rigid in the restraints and he glared up at Lestrade as the other man came closer to his face. "That you enjoy raping your lover?"

"Is that what you think this is, Mycroft?"

"It does certainly seem to fit the definition I'm familiar with."

Lestrade let his weight settle carefully over the man beneath him. "This is borderline, and I could probably lose my job for this," he agreed. "So why don't we negotiate, Mycroft? It's what you do best, so you know you'll get the best end of the deal."

Mycroft glared at his lover. "I cannot believe you," he said. "You told me that relationships are about trust, Gregory. Respect and trust."

"They are," Lestrade agreed with a smile. He pressed a small kiss to the side of Mycroft's mouth. "But I find myself wondering if I can trust you to tell me the truth if I ask you if you've ever cheated on me. You have such a good poker face, Mycroft, that I wouldn't know if you were lying to me or not. I want to show you that I'm better than anything you've done in the past, or dreamed of doing, with Stephen Fry."

"I wouldn't lie to you."

"Then why did you tell me you spent the night working and that was the reason you couldn't come to bed with me?" Lestrade asked. He nipped under Mycroft's jaw and started moving back down towards the foot of the bed. "Even on those nights when I begged you to come and make love to me, you said you had to work. Why do you always check on me at least three times without ever joining me in the bed? This all points to someone who is trying very hard to hide something, Mycroft."

"I do work at night, Gregory. Many days it is the only way I can stay caught up with everything that needs to be done," Mycroft said. "Were I to join you in bed, I would fall asleep after we were done, and wouldn't be able to get back to work. You knew when I first asked you out how dedicated I am to my work. None of this should be a surprise to you."

"The only surprises I got lately were seeing you with two fingers in your ass, jerking off and moaning another man's name," Greg said. He pushed back and ran his hand along Mycroft's cock. "I spent a lot of time wondering why you didn't want me touching your ass, Mycroft. I thought maybe you had a bad experience with a previous lover and that was why you put restrictions on me. I was willing to accept it, because I love you, but then I saw that you didn't mind something in there and Sherlock filled in the blanks."

Mycroft glared. "There has been entirely too much talk about my brother in this bed."

"I notice it's not exactly making you go soft, love," Lestrade said. He licked over the tip of Mycroft's erection and looked back up. "You have only ever wanted one person to bugger you, and, as far as I know, has only happened in your head. What do you want him to do to you, Mycroft? What have you dreamed about?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Gregory. Let me go."

Lestrade paused and looked up at his lover. "You really don't, do you?" he asked. "You know what, just forget it, Mycroft. I don't know why I'm even trying. Stephen Fry is posh and perfect for you." He pushed off the bed and grabbed his shirt. "You'd be able to take him out to supper at those fancy restaurants you like so much and not have to worry about him embarrassing you by using the wrong fork or ordering the wrong thing to eat."

"Gregory."

"He'd be perfect for you, Mycroft. You'd have things in common, he's smart and you'd be able to talk to him without dumbing down whatever you were saying to him. Hell, maybe if I was smarter, I would have realized it sooner." He undid one cuff and walked towards the door. "I'll talk to you later, Mycroft."

"Wait, Gregory."

The slamming of the front door was the only answer.  
**********

Sherlock was lying on the sofa thinking when he heard the door open and the familiar sound of Lestrade's footsteps on the stairs. He sighed and opened his eyes just before the door opened. "Lestrade, I thought you would be busy by now."

"Yeah, right."

With a sigh, Sherlock stood and took Lestrade's arm. "Come on," he said.

"What?"

"I de-bugged my room earlier so we can talk there safely."

Lestrade followed along, actually curious to see Sherlock's room. He'd always imagined it full of odd experiments and creepy criminal relics. He was surprised to find that it was a fairly normal room. He was even more surprised to find himself pushed down to sit on the bed, joined by Sherlock. "Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?" he asked.

"Lestrade, give me some credit to know when I do need to care about my friends," Sherlock replied with a sigh. "What happened now?"

"Mycroft accused me of attempting to rape him," Lestrade said. "Then I realized that I'm not right for him and left."

"What do you mean you're not right for him?" Sherlock asked. "No one else would be able to put up with half the crap that he pulls."

"I'm common," Lestrade replied. "I don't feel at home in fancy places, I use the wrong fork and always embarrass him no matter how hard I try not to. Mycroft hasn't taken me out to dinner in over a year, so it's not hard to work out that he doesn't want to be seen out in public with me. I didn't think I was that bad, but actions do speak louder than words."

Sherlock put an arm around Lestrade's shoulder and pulled him into an awkward hug. "You are good for my brother, and he's an idiot for hurting you," he said. "Lestrade, do you think I would continue to associate myself with anyone who was common?"

"You didn't see his face at that dinner, Sherlock."

"Forget about that dinner and answer my question."

"You only like me because I give you access to good murder scenes," Lestrade said with a smile. "And when did you get so touchy anyway?"

"Not good?"

"Just unusual." Lestrade rested his head on the (very) bony shoulder and sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Sherlock. He wants someone who is more like him and   
I don't stand a chance of keeping him."

Sherlock looked up. "That's his car. You can stay in here, I'll talk to him."

"I need a night alone, Sherlock."

"Then you'll have one." Sherlock paused for a minute. "Lock the door if you need to. I'll let you know when he's gone."

"Thank you," Lestrade said with a soft sigh. He waited until the door was shut behind the younger man and then went over to lock it. He didn't know what would happen if he saw Mycroft before he had a chance to really sort through his feelings, but Lestrade knew that it wouldn't be good. He loved the man and wanted to be with him, so badly that it hurt, but he had to know that he could trust Mycroft, and right at that moment, he didn't think he would be able to.

Sherlock managed to get into the living room and onto the sofa before Mycroft made it up the stairs, but it was a near thing. "What do you want, Mycroft?" he asked.

"You know very well what I want, Sherlock," Mycroft replied. "Where is Gregory?"

"Don't know."

"Sherlock. I know he came here and he hasn't left. Where do you have him hidden?"

Sherlock shrugged and sat up. "Did it ever occur to you, brother dear, that maybe Lestrade came here because he doesn't want to see you?" he asked softly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"How long did you think you could hide your desires from the man sharing your home, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. "Did you really think that Lestrade wouldn't find out about your porn."

Mycroft's whole body stiffened. "I do not watch porn, Sherlock," he hissed.

"What do you call anything with Stephen Fry in it then, hmmm? A good show?"

"Sherlock. We agreed never to talk about this."

"No, Mycroft, you demanded that I never mention what I caught you doing to anyone. Like I would want to talk about finding you naked on the bed covered in semen with a toy jammed in your arse," Sherlock said. 

"Do not be vulgar, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "You were raised better than that."

"I was raised to observe, Mycroft, and that's how I have spent my life. You really have no idea how much damage you've done, do you?"

"You are not an expert on matters of the heart, Sherlock. You have no right to lecture me on anything."

Sherlock stood up and moved so he was almost touching his brother. "I may never have had a lover before, brother, but I do know how to tell when one of my friends is hurting, and it's not hard to work out that you're the cause of Lestrade's pain," he said. "He saw you. He found you just as I did, only he has more invested in his relationship with you and more to lose."

"When did he find me?" Mycroft wanted to step back, put a little space between him and his brother, but didn't want to be seen to give ground. "He said something to me about last night, but he was asleep at his normal time."

"He managed to fool you," Sherlock said. "Normally I would take a great deal of pleasure in this, but I can't because it hurt a friend of mine. Now tell my why you both aren't your flat happily exhausted. I left you tied up for him and he said you accused him of rape."

"Were he to have done anything against my will it would have been rape, Sherlock, and you both would have been guilty of it," Mycroft said. "I was very clear when I asked Gregory out for the first time. No one touches my rear. Ever."

"Because you're saving it for someone you can never have. You're pathetic, Mycroft. Honestly, you should have just let Lestrade show you what you're missing."

"And how would you know what I'm missing?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit, brother dear," Sherlock said. He stepped in a little closer, so he could whisper in his older brother's ear. "Lestrade is a passionate man. I can only imagine that passion would bleed over into the bedroom. But you won't know until you let go of this notion that you're saving yourself for one person and let the man you're living with in completely."

Mycroft jerked back and stared at his younger brother. "You are delusional."

"Then maybe you don't want Lestrade," Sherlock said. He spun around and went back to the sofa. "Maybe you've only been using him to keep yourself happy until you can meet the man that you have dreamed about for over twenty years. Don't you think that's the least bit pathetic, Mycroft? I would have thought that you would have taken some form of action before this and gotten it out of your system."

"He had a partner and was in a relationship, Sherlock."

"Past tense."

"Sherlock, you are making this far harder than it has to be. Tell me where Gregory is so I can talk to him about our relationship," Mycroft said. "At least then I can be assured of an adult conversation."

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders. "He doesn't want to talk to you tonight."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Now who is delusional?"

"Where is he?"

"Safe."

Mycroft stalked over and stood over his brother. "I'm not going to ask you again, Sherlock. Where is Gregory?"  
"I told you he's safe, Mycroft. He wants a night alone to think things over. I really don't blame him."

Mycroft stared at his younger brother for a long moment and then turned, heading up the stairs to John's room. He pushed the door open and flicked on the light, earning a squeak from the bed. "Mycroft?"

"Apologies, John, I was looking for Gregory."

John rubbed his eyes. "I don't think Greg's here, Mycroft. I didn't hear anything."

"You also didn't hear my discussion with my brother," Mycroft said. "I am sorry to have awoken you. Good night."

The doctor rolled over, burying himself under the blankets and muttered something about insane men who worked for the government. Mycroft chose to ignore it, for the time being, and shut the door behind him again. With a small sigh he went back down the stairs and into the sitting room. "You enjoyed that."

"You're lucky he didn't shoot you."

"I will find him, Sherlock. There are only so many places in the flat that he could hide."

Sherlock waited until Mycroft was in the kitchen and the stood to follow. He knew that his brother hated physical labor, but thought that he might still try to break down a door to get to Lestrade, and Sherlock didn't want to have to explain a broken door to Mrs. Hudson. She would just smirk at him again.

"Why is your bedroom locked, Sherlock?"

"I don't want Mrs. Hudson or John in there," Sherlock replied.

"Key."

"Don't have one."

"Sherlock."

"I've been going in and out the window," Sherlock said. "It's such good exercise. Maybe   
you should try it, if you really want in my room so badly."

Mycroft almost jumped when he felt his brother's warm form against him. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Making sure you don't damage my door," Sherlock said. "I think it's time for you to go home, brother dear. Shall I call your keeper for you or is she waiting outside like the good dog that she is?"

"Gregory is in there, isn't he?" Mycroft turned and looked at his brother. "What is my lover doing in your bedroom?"

"You seem desperate for a shag tonight, Mycroft. Maybe I should offer, just to shut you up."

"What?" Mycroft couldn't have heard that correctly. 

"I dislike repeating myself, Mycroft." Sherlock stepped closer and leaned in. "If you're that needy, you can have me for the night."

Mycroft pushed past his brother and out into the kitchen. "That is not funny, Sherlock. You should never make jokes like that. People will talk."

"As I pointed out to John, people do little else," Sherlock said. "That's a no?"

"Of course it's a no. Think of what Mummy would say."

"Mother wouldn't care, Mycroft, and you know it," Sherlock said. He started forward and, any other night, would have been amused at how his older brother backed away. But all he cared about that night was keeping Lestrade safe. "You seem to take such joy in telling people that your baby brother is still a virgin. Why would you be so interested in my sex life if you didn't want to be involved in it?"

"Sherlock. Stop it," Mycroft hissed.

"Are you leaving then, brother dear?"

"Don't think for a moment that I don't know what you're doing, Sherlock. I will be back first thing in the morning and I want you to have come to your senses."

Sherlock listened to make sure that the door shut firmly behind Mycroft and locked up for the night. He really hadn't expected that long of a fight with his brother, but had enjoyed it. There were so few people who challenged him mentally. It was a shame he disliked his brother so much, it would be nice to be able to talk with him like they had when they were younger.

"Lestrade," he said, tapping on the door. "He's gone for the night."

The lock clicked and the door cracked open. "I can't believe you just did that," Lestrade said.

"Did what?"

"Propositioned your own brother, Sherlock. There are laws against it, you know."

Sherlock shrugged. "I knew he wouldn't do anything about it, and it was the only way I could think of to get him to leave," he said. "Would you like to talk?"

"I don't know where to start," Lestrade admitted.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm hungry."

"We can order take-away and talk in here," Sherlock said. "John is, apparently, upstairs and he won't be able to hear us back here."

"No one would believe me if I told them about this," Lestrade commented. "You guys keep any beer around this place?"

"No, but there is scotch," Sherlock said. "What do you want to eat?"

Lestrade looked at him. "That depends, what do you think you could eat tonight?"

"I'm not picky. Get whatever you want and I'll pay," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock."

"Lestrade, you're sleeping with my brother. That makes you family. Order the food. I'll find the scotch."

Wondering what sort of dream he was having, Lestrade dug out his mobile and tried to think what was close that he liked. If he was going to pour his heart out to his consulting detective, he at least wanted to have something good to eat while he did it.


	3. Chapter 3

No one ever saw Mycroft Holmes panic. He couldn’t recall the last time he had really panicked over anything, but having his younger brother proposition him caused his heart rate to speed up and his breath to grow short. Mycroft couldn’t believe that Sherlock had offered to sleep with him. He could remember when his baby brother was first brought home, how small and fragile he seemed, and how he vowed to protect Sherlock no matter what happened in their future. Part of him knew that Sherlock had only said that to drive Mycroft away, but another part of him wondered if there wasn’t some small part of Sherlock that wanted to sleep with his brother. Mycroft had always thought that Sherlock was still a virgin because he hated to be touched, couldn’t stand to have anyone in his space, annoyed by the sound of inferior minds thinking. Could he have really missed something to vital? Was it possible that Mycroft had been so blind to what his brother was really thinking?

When he arrived back at his flat, his first impulse was to put on QI and lose himself in the sound of Stephen Fry’s voice. Maybe an orgasm would help him think more clearly. He fought past that impulse and went to his study, turning on the feeds that would show him Sherlock’s bedroom.

Only one of them was still functional. Mycroft sighed. Sherlock did like to go around and hunt out the cameras that Mycroft had placed around the flat, and he wondered why his brother would have picked that day to do so. He bit his lip and turned on the volume, finding that it was still functional. The camera angle showed the bed almost front on. Lestrade was sitting propped up against the headboard, a plate on his lap and a glass on the nightstand next to him. Sherlock was lying draped over the end of the bed, head resting on Lestrade’s crossed legs, a plate on his stomach that still held most of a slice of pizza.

“You have two choices, Lestrade,” Sherlock was saying. “I know you think you’re not good enough for Mycroft, but you have to take a step back and really look at the situation. The man lives for his work. You are the only one who will tolerate his obsession with all things government and still love him enough to ensure he rests when he can.”

“Then why hasn’t he taken me out to dinner in over a year?” Lestrade asked. “I told you that he’s embarrassed to be seen in public with me. The only time I see him anymore is when I go and sit in his study while he’s working, and even then I don’t think he sees me.”

“I can assure you that my brother always knows exactly who is in the room with him,” Sherlock said. “Lestrade, I understand you’re upset by what you’ve learned, but you cannot allow my brother’s idiocy to stand in the way of what you want.”

“How can I be sure what I want when I don’t even know the man I’ve been sleeping with for so long?”

Mycroft winced at the raw pain in his lover’s voice. He hadn’t meant to do so much damage to Lestrade. The reason they hadn’t been out to eat in so long wasn’t that he was ashamed to be seen with his lover, he was too busy and wanted to spend what time he could alone with Lestrade. He’d thought that he mentioned that, but maybe he hadn’t. There had been a lot on his mind and his personal life had been taking second place to his work more nights than he wanted to admit.

“You should have gagged him and then topped him,” Sherlock said. “Shown the idiot how stupid he was being and driven Stephen Fry right out of his head for good.”

“Mycroft was right, Sherlock. That would have been rape, no matter how much I could have made him want me,” Lestrade said. “Besides, I’ve never topped before. I could have hurt him badly.”

“So you let him hurt you, but you won’t hurt him?”

“It’s called love, Sherlock. I’m sure you’ve at least heard of it.”

Sherlock waved his hand and twisted to look up at Lestrade. “So, we have two issues here that need to be addressed,” he said seriously. “Your lack of experience as a top, and Mycroft’s stubbornness in clinging to his high-class porn.”

“I don’t see an easy solution to either of them.”

“I can see one, but you won’t let me do it,” Sherlock said.

“You’re not sneaking into his flat and deleting QI from his DVR, Sherlock,” Lestrade said. “No matter how much I might hate it, be feeling stupid and broken because of it, that’s something that’s important to Mycroft and it’s his.”

Sherlock rolled up into a sitting position and shifted back onto the bed so he could look at Lestrade directly. “He would just be able to get the episodes directly from the studio, if not buy them on DVD,” he said. “Mycroft has more power than even you seem to realize, Lestrade. We need to teach you to top.”

Had they been in the same room, Sherlock would have commented on how identical the reactions between Mycroft and Lestrade were. Mycroft leaned forward towards the monitor, not sure he had heard right. Shouldn’t he be a little more jealous of his younger brother attempting to seduce his lover? He paused and thought about that for a moment. Something wasn’t right, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

"Come on, Sherlock, I'm not going to cheat on my lover with his younger brother," Lestrade said.

"You wouldn't have to touch me," Sherlock sighed. "You can lie there and watch. Yes, I realize this falls into the definition of cheating, but which do you think is worse? Watching me touch myself or you touching me?"

"Neither of them is high on my list, you know," Lestrade said. He put his plate to the side and picked up the glass of scotch. "I should just ask Mycroft if we can ease up for a bit. I'll move into the guest room and see what I want to do next. Never thought I'd be thinking about leaving him, you know, but if he wants someone else, then I'm not just going to be keeping the bed warm for him until he gets what he wants. You've said it yourself, Sherlock; Mycroft Holmes always gets what he wants."

"Lestrade, do listen to yourself for a moment," Sherlock said. He moved again and put his arm around the older man's shoulders. "You're willing to give up on four years without a fight. This isn't the man I know, Lestrade."

"I'm tired, Sherlock," Lestrade admitted. "I'm tired of constantly questioning where I stand in the relationship, if I'm good enough for a Holmes to be with and clearly I'm not. I'm tired of wondering if he'll even remember I'm in the bedroom and come in for an hour or so. I knew what I was getting into with his work. I would never ask to be put first, but finding out I'm third." Lestrade paused and looked up at Sherlock. "That hurts, Sherlock. It really, really hurts."

Sherlock sighed. "Then sleep in here," he said. "Lock the door and I'll be fine out in the living room. I wasn't planning to sleep tonight anyway. Send me a text when you wake up and let me know if you want to see my brother or not."

"Thanks," Lestrade said. "Have to admit, I never thought that you'd be this nice to me, Sherlock."

"I consider you more than a friend, Lestrade," Sherlock said. "Do you want something to help you sleep tonight?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," Lestrade said. "You'll be on the sofa?"

"I won't leave the flat until we talk again," Sherlock promised. "You have control of the locks in here. See you in the morning, Lestrade."

Mycroft flinched when Sherlock's eyes fixed on the camera. He realized with a shock that Sherlock had left the camera and microphone in place on purpose so he would be able to see everything. Mycroft leaned back in his chair, mind working over everything he'd seen. As impossible as it seemed, Mycroft seemed to have broken his lover and he wasn't sure how he would be able to fix it.


End file.
